by Sara Evans
“You work on cars now?” Jade folded into one of the chairs, tucking her arms close against her body. If she stood next to him any longer, she’d meld into him, weeping, letting out weeks’ worth of pain and disappointment, using him as her wall. “What happened to St. Louis and Purina, brand manager and all?”
He smiled, shaking his head, and sat next to her. “Marketing, branding, business strategies, spinning the truth . . . not me. I looked in the mirror one day and said, ‘Dude, what are you doing here?’ I quit, moved back into the farmhouse. Mom was about to go crazy living with Sydney and her brood, so she moved in with me. Yes, I’m a thirty-two-year-old man living with his mother; save the jokes for later. Remember Hartline?”
“Okay . . . no jokes pending. Hartline? Yeah, how could I forget?” Ben Hartline had been one of Dustin’s best friends in high school. The night Jade realized her relationship, her secret marriage to Dustin, was unraveling, Dustin had been at Hartline’s house flirting with his sister, Kendall.
“Yeah, right.” Dustin cleared his throat. “Anyway, we were having a few beers one night out at the new place on 163, The Hoss, mellowing to the jukebox, dreaming about what we’d do if we could do anything we wanted . . .” He stopped and analyzed her for a moment. “Hey, I didn’t come here to talk about me. I came to find out about you. How are you? How’s your mom?”
“I’m tired, but fine. Mama has bacterial pneumonia.” Jade leaned forward, resting her arms on her thighs. “They have her hooked up to a heavy antibiotic, which seems to be working. She’s stable and sleeping.” She held on to his gaze. So much blue hope and strength there. “She’s dying, Dustin.”
The first sob hit Jade without warning. She’d not been braced, so her arms slipped from her legs as she collapsed forward, shaking. Mama, Max, June . . . Her emotions stormed her heart’s gates.
Dustin slipped his arms around her and cradled her against his chest, stroking her hair, whispering everything would be all right.
But it wouldn’t be all right. Everything was changing. Everything had changed.
Jade cried against him until his arm slipped slowly down her back and around her waist. The familiar and comfortable move sent warmth through her and suddenly reminded her of what it was like to be in love with Dustin, pressed against him with his thundering heart in her ear.
Jade jumped up, breaking free, finding the tissue box up by the altar. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all over you.” She blew her nose and wadded the tissue against her palm.
“Don’t be.” His voice was husky with emotion.
It felt as if the connection between them had never severed.
“So you and Hartline dreamed up a business?” She returned to her chair, sitting on the edge and leaning away from him. Looking down as she squeezed the tissue tighter in her hand, she was suddenly aware of her bare left finger. In her haste and panic over Mama, she’d forgotten her rings.
“We did. Turned Dad’s equipment garage into a chop shop. We do specialized cars and trucks. It’s been an interesting adventure.” His smile confirmed he’d found his life’s calling. “The show Overhaul took a look at us . . . We have a shot at being a part of a mid-America show they’re creating.”
“Well, look at you and Hart.” Jade dotted her wet eyes with the dry edge of her tissue, then hid the wad in her purse. “You must be thrilled.”
“Nothing is signed yet, but the producers love Hart’s work. His designs got us the attention.”
“So you can fix the Cadillac? All we need is a new top, not a new chop.” She sat back with a smile.
“New top, not a new chop . . . Ha, I like it.” He angled his body toward hers and brushed the flyaway hair from her eyes. The move was almost like a reflex, intimate and tender. “I already took the car to the shop. We need to look up parts, but we can have the old girl good as new in a week to ten days. The motor for the top is tricky, but doable. How did the top get so mangled?”
“I jumped on it.” Jade let free her ponytail and combed her hair with her fingers.
“Interesting . . .” He laughed low. “Because?”
“Because it wouldn’t go up. It wouldn’t go down. And I was mad.”
“Now, what did that poor top ever do to you?” He peered down at her. “It’s really good to see you.”
The tenor of his voice made her drink deep of his spirit. “I must be a sight,” she said. He was trying to read her, figure out what drove her to trample a convertible top. Dustin knew darn well it wasn’t because the top was stuck.
“A beautiful sight, if you ask me.” He motioned to the hem of her jeans. “I like the pajama-trim look.”
“I wasn’t exactly awake when I dressed to come here.” Jade lifted her foot to see her cotton bottoms poking through the end of her pant leg. “Couldn’t find socks.”
“I’m sorry about your mama.” Dustin rubbed his hand across her back, over her shoulders. Every sleeping molecule awakened.
Jade couldn’t discern if being tired, frustrated, or feeling alone made her want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but with each minute, with each touch, her pulse tugged her toward him. Dustin was her heart’s first home. And the combination of past memories colliding with present emotions tempted her to leap without looking.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Jade?”
Leave, don’t come back. Close that door to your heart that remains ajar. “Well, I’m hungry, I guess.”
“Breakfast, coming up.” Dustin jumped up and started for door. “Let’s see . . . eggs and bacon with wheat toast and a side of pancakes?”
“Some things never change.”
“Some things never do.” His eyes lingered on her as if he wanted her to hear what lived beneath the surface. “If you’re not here?”
“I’ll be in Mama’s room. Three-oh-three.”
As he exited, a nurse entered. “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Benson.”
“Is Mama okay?” Jade stood and reached for her purse.
“She’s awake, asking for you.”
Eighteen
June wrapped her hair in a do-rag and carted all the cleaning supplies from the utility room and from under the kitchen sink onto the red Formica table.
Snapping on a pair of laytex gloves, she faced her image reflected in the shade falling across the kitchen window. “Germs, your days are numbered. Junie the Disinfector is in the house.”
She rolled her eyes at the words. In her younger days, she was always doing something funny, urging her sorority sisters to put on plays for their house mother or their favorite fraternity men. She was the nucleus around which they all bonded.
“Junie, the Kappa Alphas from Mercer called. They’re coming . . . they’re coming! What should we do?” Squeal, scream, giggle, pound their feet into the floor as they turned in a circle.
But now she was sixty-something, coloring the gray out of her hair and considering Botox injections. Her only child was grown, successful at law but flailing in his relationships. And she, June Benson, spent the bulk of her marriage seeking penance and forgiving her husband’s sins.
The lively June Carpenter of Wesleyan College was nothing like the stoic June Benson of Whisper Hollow.
After a second, the shadow on the window faded, taking June’s reflection with it. Peering beyond the rain and dirt-splattered pane, June studied the gray clouds congregating from the northwest. Looked like fall instead of spring.
She began her work upstairs, yanking off Beryl’s bedding and tossing it down the laundry chute to the basement. What a handy device, a laundry chute.
She planned to give Beryl’s sheets and blankets a good hot washing, Lysol the mattress, and open a few windows to let in the fresh prairie air.
For the better part of the day, she worked with zeal, going from room to room, cleaning and disinfecting, thankful to be busy.
Jade had called to let her know Beryl was out of the woods, for now. “See, I told you.” And Rebel sent one text message: The governor is decidi
ng tomorrow. Linc came around in the afternoon, and while June wrote a shopping list— she felt like baking—she had him chop some firewood. Snow was in the air.
The doorbell rang as June sent Linc off to the store. She opened to find three women standing on the porch.
“Can I help you?”
“You must be June. I’m Carla Colter. My son, Dustin, is the one who looked at your car this morning.”
“Right, right, do come in, please.” The one who married Jade before Max.
The ladies entered as Carla finished the introductions. “This is Sharon Watson and Elizabeth Stone. We’re friends of Beryl’s.”
“It’s lovely to meet you.” June pressed her hand to her head, thinking twice about removing the do-rag. “Pardon my appearance, but I’ve been trying to keep busy, cleaning. Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, thank you. Can we do anything?” Carla asked, following June to the kitchen. “Cook? Shop? Help clean?”
“Pray. Beryl could use a bit of divine intervention.” June filled the kettle with water and set it on the burner.
The teatime conversation was about Beryl and her health, then drifted toward friends and family who suffered illness and the mercy of God. June liked the women. She found their company refreshing, unencumbered with expectation.
They’d eaten all the Chips Ahoy! cookies (a Linc shopping choice) and sipped through a second cup of Earl Gray tea when Linc burst through the back door, his arm threaded through plastic bags of groceries. “Excuse me, ladies.” He glanced at June. “Where do you want me to put these?”
“The counter is fine, Linc.” She moved to help him.
Carla helped unload the few groceries while Sharon offered to write up her favorite cake recipe. Once the kitchen was squared away, Carla carried her cup to the sink. “June, we’ll get out of your way, but call us if you need anything.”
“I will, I will.” She walked with them to the door. “Thank you so much for the company.”
Linc was waiting for her in the kitchen. “Want me to bring in the firewood, Mrs. Benson?”
“Please.” June was halfway through putting up the groceries when her cell went off. She answered, hoping to hear good news from Jade.
“Mrs. Benson, this is Carissa McCown.”
“Slow news day?” June exhaled. “What can I do for you?”
“Can you give me a statement about Claire Falcon?”
June froze. The phone slipped in her fingers.
“She’s accusing you of assaulting her in a parking lot.”
“You’re joking.” Will the circus ever leave town?
“She’s not filed official charges, but while speaking with a reporter—”
“A reporter? You mean you, Miss McCown?” June’s fingernails made deep imprints into her palm.
“Do you have a comment, Mrs. Benson?”
Linc stumbled through the door, his arms loaded with firewood.
“No, I don’t.” June caught the door for Linc, holding it open.
“Can you tell me about Bill Novak?”
A gray veil dropped over June’s mind. A cold chill slithered down her torso. “I—I have no idea?”
“What was your relationship to Bill Novak, Mrs. Benson?”
Linc moved past her, heading out for a second load of wood. June rammed the phone at him.
“What? Mrs. Benson, I—”
“There’s a woman on the other end. Talk to her.”
He wrinkled his brow. After a second, he put the phone to his ear. “Lincoln here, who’s this?” He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. “A reporter? You don’t say.”
June smashed through the back door, striding across the yard to the woodpile. Yanking the ax free from the tip of a round, stubby log, she stood the piece on end, raised the ax, and swung down hard—tennis elbow be darned. “Here’s to you, Rebel Benson.”
She whacked the piece again. Bill Novak. And again. How could he? Thick, ragged splinters hit the air around her. This time Rebel had gone too far.
He’d been summoned. To the wide corner office on the west side of the tenth floor. Max worked his way through the maze of offices and cubicles, hearing blips of strategy and planning by associates, most of it about lunch and the weekend.
Passing Cara’s office, he poked his head inside and gave her a thumbs-up. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she called after him.
She’d worked her magic and got Judge Howard to kick an injunction filed by Bradley to give the McClures temporary custody of Asa. He was awarded sole custody. For now.
“How’s the nanny?”
Max stepped into Cara’s office. The old man could wait a few minutes. “Mrs. Tobias? Great. A true Mrs. Doubtfire.” Max had spent the last twenty-four hours hiring a nanny and buying a crib, unloading Asa’s clothes and toys.
“And your first night with your son?”
“Rough. I’d never changed a diaper before. Asa kept looking at me like, Get it right, dude. When Mrs. Tobias arrived, he took right to her, so I think he’ll have a good day.”
“I heard you were summoned to The Corner.” She tipped her head toward his dad’s office. “What do you think he wants?”
“Probably wants to make sure I’m ready to take over when the governor appoints him to the court. Do I have a nanny? Am I working on getting Jade home? All his little fix-it details.”
“You think he’s going to get the court?”
Max started for the door. “I think he’s done everything in his power to make sure he gets the court. Even sending out the press release.”
“Your mother’s too classy not to come back.”
“Classy, yes. But this time, I think she’s adding smart.”
As Max approached his dad’s office, he straightened his tie and made sure his shirttail was tucked in tight. Bring your A game, bring your A game.
Max rapped lightly on the door under the nameplate Rebel Benson and then entered. Dad waved him in from the other side of his desk, phone to his ear.
“Art, I need to run. We’ll talk soon.”
Max reclined in the chair by the desk. He looked forward to moving in here. Two walls of windows, wet bar, shower, law library, sitting area. Mom’s classic taste in art and color graced every nuance of the room.
“How goes it?” Dad rose from his mocha-colored leather chair, smoothing his tie and buttoning his coat as if he were about to address a judge and jury.
“Hired a nanny. Asa seems to like her. Changed my first diaper.”
“Got to watch the boys; they’ll get you.” Rebel moved his finger in a spouting motion as he leaned against the edge of his desk.
“So I heard.” But Max knew his dad didn’t call him in to give parenting advice.
“What’s up with the McClures?”
“Just getting started. You know how these things go. It’ll take months to bring to trial if we even get that far. I’m hoping they’ll get tired of the process and let it go.”
“Not if they’re listening to Bradley Richardson.”
Max shifted forward. “We hired an investigator. Meanwhile, I have my son.” The words my son still felt foreign even though he’d known for nineteen months. Even though Rice called once in a while to let him know how Asa fared. Man, he’d forgotten about those talks. If he confessed to Jade, she’d have another valid weapon in her arsenal of mistrust. “You might want to stop by one night and meet your grandson, Dad.”
He nodded while gazing at the floor, distracted. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, son.”
“You didn’t call me in here to talk about my situation with Asa.” Max had watched his father charm unsuspecting witnesses, gain their confidence, then tear them apart like a hungry bear emerging after a long winter. The tactic came with a certain aura, a foreboding that now stirred in Max’s gut.
“No way to put this gentle, son.” Rebel glared hard at him. “I’m going to turn the firm over to Clarence Chambers when, if, I get the appointment to th
e court.”
“Excuse me?” Max leaned forward. “For what reason? This is my firm, the family firm.”
“And I’m still in charge.”
“Not if you go to the court. The partnership agreement states if you leave the firm or die, the next Benson in line assumes control.” For seventy-five years the rules had been ironclad. Father to son, father to son, father to son. No outsider ever ran Benson Law. “I can run this place with my eyes closed.”
“I’ve got the executive management behind me on this, Max.”
Max stood, Dad’s confession sinking through him, stinging all the way down. “And what’s your reasoning?” He kept his tone even. Calm and cool was the best strategy with Dad.
“Simple. You’re not ready, Max. You just said you could run this place with your eyes closed.” Dad walked over to the wet bar and set out two glasses. “That’s exactly what I’m concerned you’ll do. You live by the seat of your pants, not looking before you leap, finding shortcuts, looking for the easy way. Because you’re good at just about everything, your methods have worked. For you. Right now, everything around you is in upheaval. I won’t let the firm move under your umbrella.”
Dad dropped ice in the glasses and splashed them with Diet Coke. Pain, phantom or real, gripped Max’s back. “You’re taking away your own son’s inheritance.”
“Temporarily. Until you work through all your private battles. I assume you’ve considered what this case with the McClures could do to your reputation, as well as the family and the firm.” Dad slid one of the glasses to the end of the bar for Max.
“What do you suggest I do? Not fight for my son? Give in to Gus and Lorelai?”
“Fight for your son, Max. But not while running Benson Law. I’d bet money that Gus is counting on you choosing the firm and your reputation over Asa.”
Max picked up his glass, but he wasn’t thirsty. “I won’t abandon him.”
“You need to learn from this, son.” Dad sipped his soda. “Always carry condoms.”
Max peered at his dad. Was he serious with that remark? “I’m married. Unlike you, I’m not going to cheat on my wife.”